


Believe Me

by maaaaa



Series: Puffer Bellies [6]
Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Jim and Blair deal with day-to-day life after Blair suffers a brain injury.
Series: Puffer Bellies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695412
Kudos: 8





	Believe Me

**Author's Note:**

> My “Puffer Bellies” series was written between September 2007 and July 2009. It is a WIP that was never quite finished. The stories stand pretty well on their own, but should be read in order.

Jim jogged up the stairs feeling extremely pleased with himself for having closed two cold cases and wangling an early end to his day out of Simon as a reward.

He’d picked up a six pack of cold near-beer along with a couple of Blair’s favorite movies from the rental place down the street and was all set to kick back.

When he got to the third floor he noticed the door to the loft was slightly ajar and he immediately extended his hearing to the inside.

Picking up just one heartbeat and hearing only Blair’s voice allowed him to relax again, though he didn’t look forward to having the discussion with Blair, yet again, about keeping the door locked.

Jim stepped into the loft and froze as a picture frame came sailing out of Blair’s room, followed rapid-fire by two more. The three objects hit the back of the couch and landed on the floor, cracking and splintering as they hit. A large book was the next thing to exit Blair’s room, crashing into the center post with a thud along with a very loud, very heartfelt curse hot on its heels.

It only took Jim a moment to recover. He set the movies and six-pack on the table and made his way quickly to the open French doors. The sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks.

Blair’s room was pretty much a shambles.

Desk drawers were opened, the closet rifled, and blankets and sheets torn off the bed and strewn on the floor.

Cardboard boxes, which Jim recognized as the ones he’d loaded up, hauled out of Blair’s office at Ranier, and packed away in the basement storage area, were overturned and their contents scattered around the room, except for the items Blair had just a few minutes earlier relocated to the living area.

Blair sat cross-legged on the floor in the midst of the mess, oblivious to Jim’s presence. He was grumbling under his breath and shaking his head as he rummaged through the things within his reach.

Jim, slack-jawed now, put his hands on his hips and stood in the doorway, completely at a loss to understand what was going on. It was obvious Blair’d been to the basement; another discussion he wasn’t too keen on having again. But he willed himself to remain calm and very slowly, and very deliberately cleared his throat.

Blair jerked in surprise at the sound and looked up. He glanced quickly from Jim to the clock on his desk and then back to Jim with an accusing scowl.

“You’re home early,” he beefed, sounding as surly as he looked.

Jim’s calm evaporated in an instant and his gut reaction was to yank Blair up off the floor and dust off the seat of his jeans, but he resisted the urge. He rubbed the fingertips of his right hand into his palm to alleviate the itch.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked. He leaned against the doorjamb, the picture of patience.

“No,” Blair answered curtly, giving Jim a sour look that would’ve made any petulant ten-year-old proud.

“Ah,” Jim said, nodding his head deceptively as he gave Blair a pointed look. “Let me re-phrase the question.”

He entered the room, stepping over things or gently nudging stuff out of the way with his foot as he picked his way over to Blair. He sat down on the floor next to him and waited.

Blair fidgeted for a few minutes, avoiding looking at Jim and making a poor show of ignoring him.

“Fine,” he finally said. He threw his hands into the air and waved them around. “I was looking for my diplomas.” He stared out toward the living room and muttered, “not that it’s any of your business.”

Jim steeled himself with a deep breath and rubbed his itchy palm across his thigh. “Did you find them?” he asked.

Blair chewed at his lower lip for a bit and then finally nodded grudgingly. Jim had a pretty good idea what the answer was, but before he could ask, Blair pointed out into the other room.

“And that’s where you decided to display them?” Jim inquired dryly.

Blair squirmed, but still refused to look at Jim.

Stifling a weary sigh, Jim scooted backward until he bumped up against the bed. He pulled his legs up toward his chest and rested his forearms on his bent knees. He clasped his hands loosely and let them dangle.

“It’s like pulling teeth, Chief,” he informed Blair after a few moments. “Come on buddy, wanna tell me what’s up?”

Blair did a half-turn, spinning on his butt to face Jim and responded angrily, “Mr. McKenna doesn’t believe I went to college and traveled to lots of places and did, did, stuff,” he spat out in a huff.

Ah, Jim thought, Dan McKenna, the counselor who was preparing to administer a battery of I.Q. and aptitude tests for Blair.

Jim narrowed his eye assessingly, immediately picking up the telltale signs that Blair wasn’t being 100% truthful, so he cut off anything further by raising his hand.

“Mr. McKenna has a your complete file and knows for a fact everything in it is true. Wanna run that by me again?” he prompted, not leaving Blair much wiggle room.

Faced with Jim’s no-nonsense bluntness, along with the concern conveyed in his softening stare, Blair lost a bit of steam. Hanging his head, he hunched his shoulders and shrugged.

“I just wanted to show ‘em to him, that’s all, but I didn’t know which box they were in so we brought ‘em all up---,”

“We?” Jim interrupted.

“Yeah, me ‘n Bernie,” Blair supplied, looking up warily.

Jim shook his head and scrubbed his face briskly. Bernie, the usually in the bag part-time custodian of their building, was not who he considered the optimal choice to assist Blair with anything, much less any kind of manual task. The stairs to the basement were rickety, the freight elevator was unreliable most days…he cut off that train of thought, filed it away for the moment, and returned to the subject at hand. He wriggled his fingers at Blair in a go on motion.

Blair smiled, as if he found the gesture funny for some reason. But then he picked up where he’d left off, this time in a snotty, self-demeaning voice.

“I started looking through all this stuff and I don’t know what most of it even is.” He got to his feet and kicked a few things off to the side. “I used to be somebody, Jim,” he whispered sullenly.

“Used to be?” Jim challenged sternly from his seat on the floor. “Who says you’re not?”

Blair hedged, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging again and shooting Jim a dirty look.

But Jim didn’t back off, clearly expecting an answer.

It took a few more minutes of Blair fidgeting and Jim staring him down, but he finally admitted sheepishly, “Nobody”, with another one of those insufferable shrugs and body language that clearly stated, ‘nobody but me’.

Jim got to his feet, took hold of Blair’s upper arms, and gave him a gentle shake.

“We’ll go through it all together, Chief, and figure it out. How’s that?”

When Blair just blinked at him uncertainly, he continued, “You’re one of the smartest guys I know. You can be anything you want. This?” He waved his hand nonchalantly at the surrounding mess. “Is just a temporary setback.”

“Yeah?” Blair wondered aloud, smiling.

“Definitely, Chief,” Jim assured. “And I’m betting’ Mr. McKenna’s assessment will back me up.” He squeezed Blair’s arms again, reassuringly, and then surveyed the room. “Let’s get all this cleaned up. And then,” he affected a hard-boiled tone, “do you want the lecture now or after we watch Field of Dreams?”

“Lecture?” Blair ventured weakly.

“Not locking the door, traipsing down to the basement with Bernie. Bernie, Chief? Throwing stuff.” Jim ticked off. “Do I need to go on?”

“Field of Dreams?” Blair interjected, brightening despite Jim’s scolding.

Jim set his hands on his hips once again and frowned at Blair’s blatant attempt to divert him.

“Whoa,” Blair said, his eyes wide with a sudden realization. “You wanted to wallop me, didn’tcha? Just before? When you first saw all this, and I was being such a crank? One of Naomi’s boyfriends useta look at me like that and I know for sure he wanted to wallop me when he gave me that look, and---,”

“Oh yeah,” Jim admitted freely, chuckling and nodding his head menacingly, “still do, as a matter of fact.” He rubbed his hands together and then made a mock grab for Blair, who easily dodged it and made a getaway into the loft.

Blair complained with a moan when he saw the fake beer, but thought better of voicing it, knowing Jim wouldn’t budge on allowing him to have the real thing while he was on medications.

It didn’t take long to clean up the mess Blair had made, setting aside the things Blair seemed most interested in, or set a spark to life in his eyes, so they could sort through and talk about them at a later time.

When they were done, and settled on the couch ready to watch the movie, Blair turned to Jim and simply said, “Thanks.”

“For what, Chief?” Jim asked.

“For not walloping me,” Blair said with a chuckle, “and no lecture.”

Jim chuckled too but said, “You’ve still got one or the other coming, Chief.”

Blair rolled his eyes and then said, more seriously, “For everything, Jim. For not letting me, you know, not be me.”

“Just returning the favor, buddy,” Jim said. And in response to the befuddled look Blair gave him, added, “Someday you’ll know what that means. Believe me.”


End file.
